and to be willing that I should forget it also. But this was impossible.
When, therefore, she told me how sweet it was to escape from that
terrible woman, and leaned on my arm with all the freedom of old
acquaintance, I was obliged to cut short the pleasure of the moment.
“I hope your father has written that letter,” said I.
“He means to write it from Milan. We know you want to get on, so we
purpose to leave here the day after to-morrow.”
“Oh!” said I, thinking of the bill immediately, and remembering that
Mrs. Greene had insisted on having champagne for dinner.
“And if anything more is to be done about the nasty box, it may be done
there,” continued Sophonisba.
“But I must go to-morrow,” said I, “at 5 A.M.”
“Nonsense,” said Sophonisba. “Go to-morrow, when I,--I mean we,--are
going on the next day!”
“And I might as well explain,” said I, gently dropping the hand that was
on my arm, “that I find,--I find it will be impossible for
me--to--to----”
“To what?”
“To advance Mr. Greene any more money just at present.” Then
Sophonisba’s arm dropped all at once, and she exclaimed, “Oh, Mr.
Robinson!”
After all, there was a certain hard good sense about Miss Greene which
would have protected her from my evil thoughts had I known all the
truth. I found out afterwards that she was a considerable heiress, and,
in spite of the opinion expressed by the present Mrs. Robinson when Miss
Walker, I do not for a moment think she would have accepted me had I
offered to her.
“You are quite right not to embarrass yourself,” she said, when I
explained to her my immediate circumstances; “but why did you make papa
an offer which you cannot perform? He must remain here now till he hears
from England. Had you explained it all at first, the ten napoleons would
have carried us to Milan.” This was all true, and yet I thought it hard
upon me.
It was evident to me now, that Sophonisba was prepared to join her
step-mother in thinking that I had ill-treated them, and I had not much
doubt that I should find Mr. Greene to be of the same opinion. There was
very little more said between us during the walk, and when we reached
the hotel at seven or half-past seven o’clock, I merely remarked that I
would go in and wish her father and mother good-bye. “I suppose you will
drink tea with us,” said Sophonisba, and to this I assented.
I went into my own room, and put all my things into my portmanteau, for
according to the custom, which is invariable in Italy when an early
start is premeditated, the Boots was imperative in his demand that the
luggage should be ready over night. I then went to the Greene’s
sitting-room, and found that the whole party was now aware of my
intentions.
“So you are going to desert us,” said Mrs. Greene.
“I must go on upon my journey,” I pleaded in a weak apologetic voice.
“Go on upon your journey, sir!” said Mrs. Greene. “I would not for a
moment have you put yourself to inconvenience on our account.” And yet I
had already lost fourteen napoleons, and given up all prospect of going
to Venice!
“Mr. Robinson is certainly right not to break his engagement with Miss
Walker,” said Sophonisba. Now I had said not a word about an engagement
with Miss Walker, having only mentioned incidentally that she would be
one of the party at Innspruck. “But,” continued she, “I think he should
not have misled us.” And in this way we enjoyed our evening meal.
I was just about to shake hands with them all, previous to my final
departure from their presence, when the Boots came into the room.
“I’ll leave the portmanteau till to-morrow morning,” said he.
“All right,” said I.
“Because,” said he, “there will be such a crowd of things in the hall.
The big trunk I will take away now.”
“Big trunk,--what big trunk?”
“The trunk with your rug over it, on which your portmanteau stood.”
I looked round at Mr., Mrs., and Miss Greene, and saw that they were all
looking at me. I looked round at them, and as their eyes met mine I felt
that I turned as red as fire. I immediately jumped up and rushed away to
my own room, hearing as I went that all their steps were following me. I
rushed to the inner recess, pulled down the portmanteau, which still
remained in its old place, tore away my own carpet rug which covered the
support beneath it, and there saw----a white canvas-covered box, with a
hole in the canvas on the side next to me!
“It is my box,” said Mrs. Greene, pushing me away, as she hurried up and
put her finger within the rent.
“It certainly does look like it,” said Mr. Greene, peering over his
wife’s shoulder.
“There’s no doubt about the box,” said Sophonisba.
“Not the least in life,” said I, trying to assume an indifferent look.
“Mon Dieu!” said the Boots.
“Corpo di Baccho!” exclaimed the landlord, who had now joined the party.
“Oh--h--h--h--!” screamed Mrs. Greene, and then she threw herself back
on to my bed, and shrieked hysterically.
There was no doubt whatsoever about the fact. There was the lost box,
and there it had been during all those tedious hours of unavailing
search. While I was suffering all that fatigue in Milan, spending my
precious zwanzigers in driving about from one hotel to another, the box
had been safe, standing in my own room at Bellaggio, hidden by my own
rug. And now that it was found everybody looked at me as though it were
all my fault. Mrs. Greene’s eyes, when she had done being hysterical,
were terrible, and Sophonisba looked at me as though I were a convicted
thief.
“Who put the box here?” I said, turning fiercely upon the Boots.
“I did,” said the Boots, “by Monsieur’s express order.”
“By my order?” I exclaimed.
“Certainly,” said the Boots.
“Corpo di Baccho!” said the landlord, and he also looked at me as
though I were a thief. In the mean time the landlady and the three
daughters had clustered round Mrs. Greene, administering to her all
manner of Italian consolation. The box, and the money, and the jewels
were after all a reality; and much incivility can be forgiven to a lady
who has really lost her jewels, and has really found them again.
There and then there arose a hurly-burly among us as to the manner in
which the odious trunk found its way into my room. Had anybody been just
enough to consider the matter coolly, it must have been quite clear that
I could not have ordered it there. When I entered the hotel, the boxes
were already being lugged about, and I had spoken a word to no one
concerning them. That traitorous Boots had done it,--no doubt without
malice prepense; but he had done it; and now that the Greenes were once
more known as moneyed people, he turned upon me, and told me to my face,
that I had desired that box to be taken to my own room as part of my own
luggage!
“My dear,” said Mr. Greene, turning to his wife, “you should never
mention the contents of your luggage to any one.”
“I never will again,” said Mrs. Greene, with a mock repentant air, “but
I really thought----”
“One never can be sure of sharpers,” said Mr. Greene.
“That’s true,” said Mrs. Greene.
“After all, it may have been accidental,” said Sophonisba, on hearing
which good-natured surmise both papa and mamma Greene shook their
suspicious heads.
I was resolved to say nothing then. It was all but impossible that they
should really think that I had intended to steal their box; nor, if they
did think so, would it have become me to vindicate myself before the
landlord and all his servants. I stood by therefore in silence, while
two of the men raised the trunk, and joined the procession which
followed it as it was carried out of my room into that of the legitimate
owner. Everybody in the house was there by that time, and Mrs. Greene,
enjoying the triumph, by no means grudged them the entrance into her
sitting-room. She had felt that she was suspected, and now she was
determined that the world of Bellaggio should know how much she was
above suspicion. The box was put down upon two chairs, the supporters
who had borne it retiring a pace each. Mrs. Greene then advanced proudly
with the selected key, and Mr. Greene stood by at her right shoulder,
ready to receive his portion of the hidden treasure. Sophonisba was now
indifferent, and threw herself on the sofa, while I walked up and down
the room thoughtfully,--meditating what words I should say when I took
my last farewell of the Greenes.
But as I walked I could see what occurred. Mrs. Greene opened the box,
and displayed to view the ample folds of a huge yellow woollen
dressing-gown. I could fancy that she would not willingly have exhibited
this article of her toilet, had she not felt that its existence would
speedily be merged in the presence of the glories which were to follow.
This had merely been the padding at the top of the box. Under that lay a
long papier-maché case, and in that were all her treasures. “Ah, they
are safe,” she said, opening the lid and looking upon her tawdry pearls
and carbuncles.
Mr. Greene, in the mean time, well knowing the passage for his hand, had
dived down to the very bottom of the box, and seized hold of a small
canvas bag. “It is here,” said he, dragging it up, “and as far as I can
tell, as yet, the knot has not been untied.” Whereupon he sat himself
down by Sophonisba, and employing her to assist him in holding them,
began to count his rolls. “They are all right,” said he; and he wiped
the perspiration from his brow.
I had not yet made up my mind in what manner I might best utter my last
words among them so as to maintain the dignity of my character, and now
I was standing over against Mr. Greene with my arms folded on my breast.
I had on my face a frown of displeasure, which I am able to assume upon
occasions, but I had not yet determined what words I would use. After
all, perhaps, it might be as well that I should leave them without any
last words.
“Greene, my dear,” said the lady, “pay the gentleman his ten napoleons.”
“Oh yes, certainly;” whereupon Mr. Greene undid one of the rolls and
extracted eight sovereigns. “I believe that will make it right, sir,”
said he, handing them to me.
I took the gold, slipped it with an indifferent air into my waistcoat
pocket, and then refolded my arms across my breast.
“Papa,” said Sophonisba, in a very audible whisper, “Mr. Robinson went
for you to Como. Indeed, I believe he says he went to Milan.”
“Do not let that be mentioned,” said I.
“By all means pay him his expenses,” said Mrs. Greene; “I would not owe
him anything for worlds.”
“He should be paid,” said Sophonisba.
“Oh, certainly,” said Mr. Greene. And he at once extracted another
sovereign, and tendered it to me in the face of the assembled multitude.
This was too much! “Mr. Greene,” said I, “I intended to be of service to
you when I went to Milan, and you are very welcome to the benefit of my
intentions. The expense of that journey, whatever may be its amount, is
my own affair.” And I remained standing with my closed arms.
“We will be under no obligation to him,” said Mrs. Greene; “and I shall
insist on his taking the money.”
“The servant will put it on his dressing-table,” said Sophonisba. And
she handed the sovereign to the Boots, giving him instructions.
“Keep it yourself, Antonio,” I said. Whereupon the man chucked it to the
ceiling with his thumb, caught it as it fell, and with a well-satisfied
air, dropped it into the recesses of his pocket. The air of the Greenes
was also well satisfied, for they felt that they had paid me in full for
all my services.
And now, with many obsequious bows and assurances of deep respect, the
landlord and his family withdrew from the room. “Was there anything else
they could do for Mrs. Greene?” Mrs. Greene was all affability. She had
shown her jewels to the girls, and allowed them to express their
admiration in pretty Italian superlatives. There was nothing else she
wanted to-night. She was very happy and liked Bellaggio. She would stay
yet a week, and would make herself quite happy. And, though none of them
understood a word that the other said, each understood that things were
now rose-coloured, and so with scrapings, bows, and grinning smiles, the
landlord and all his myrmidons withdrew. Mr. Greene was still counting
his money, sovereign by sovereign, and I was still standing with my
folded arms upon my bosom.
“I believe I may now go,” said I.
“Good night,” said Mrs. Greene.
“Adieu,” said Sophonisba.
“I have the pleasure of wishing you good-bye,” said Mr. Greene.
And then I walked out of the room. After all, what was the use of saying
anything? And what could I say that would have done me any service? If
they were capable of thinking me a thief,--which they certainly
did,--nothing that I could say would remove the impression. Nor, as I
thought, was it suitable that I should defend myself from such an
imputation. What were the Greenes to me? So I walked slowly out of the
room, and never again saw one of the family from that day to this.
As I stood upon the beach the next morning, while my portmanteau was
being handed into the boat, I gave the Boots five zwanzigers. I was
determined to show him that I did not condescend to feel anger against
him.
He took the money, looked into my face, and then whispered to me, “Why
did you not give me a word of notice beforehand?” he said, and winked
his eye. He was evidently a thief, and took me to be another;--but what
did it matter?
I went thence to Milan, in which city I had no heart to look at
anything; thence to Verona, and so over the pass of the Brenner to
Innspruck. When I once found myself near to my dear friends the Walkers
I was again a happy man; and I may safely declare that, though a portion
of my journey was so troublesome and unfortunate, I look back upon that
tour as the happiest and the luckiest epoch of my life.
THE END.
LONDON: W. H. SMITH AND SON, PRINTERS, 186, STRAND.
End of Project Gutenberg's Tales of All Countries, by Anthony Trollope